


when your heart beats (next to mine)

by lameafpun



Series: like a virgin [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Brothels, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Prostitution, Reader-Insert, Smut, sorta - Freeform, sorta???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 02:38:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20220415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameafpun/pseuds/lameafpun
Summary: One hundred years was a long time. It felt even longer when you legitimately couldn't remember the last time another being had touched you with any semblance of compassion or illusion of care.That's where you came in.





	when your heart beats (next to mine)

Regulars are uncommon - just rare enough for you to remember their face (their arms, the feel of their hands, the way their eyes settle on yours or dip a little lower). It’s par for the course, you suppose, since Boss had set up shop along one of the major trading roads that wound through the kingdoms. Still, sometimes you missed the old building. Familiarity didn’t come easily, and the way the floor creaked and the walls let in drafts in the winter in the old building had somehow began to sound like home. Even worse was the homesickness tied to the people. Your people. 

They weren’t completely yours, of course. You and the rest shared them, but they had their favorites. And you could remember their names (ones they had chosen to give you) and at least you had a facsimile of closeness. If only in the physical sense. 

Though, for a supposedly cheap copy of real intimacy — (her hands were tangled in your hair, thighs wrapped around your neck and she tasted like the coins dropped one by one into your palm) — you thought it was probably pretty damn close to the real thing. 

-

He’s nervous. You can tell by the way he looks at the others and then glances away, hands twitching at his sides. It’s oddly charming, though, more honest than the false bravado of some other first-timers. His hand is warm in yours. Slightly clammy, too. But it always feels a little less like duty when they look so sweet and willing, however bashful. 

Your gaze slid over to him as the door closed behind you. Rushing wouldn’t do for this one. He fidgeted under your eyes, filled to the brim with nervous energy and tense; shoulders scrunched all the way up to his pointed ears. 

Smiling gently, you reach for him. His shoulders jump when your hands land on them and he’s stiff even as you guide him to the bed. As the mattress sinks beneath him his shoulders creep up again and you fight the urge to laugh. Instead, you smile comfortingly. He catches a flash of it before you move behind him, knees sinking into the mattress. Your hands skim over the cloth of his shirt, across his back and around his waist and up to his head where you tug lightly at strands of blonde hair. It’s surprisingly silky; easy to pull your fingers through (soft against your hands as you pull and twist) and you tell him as much. The back of his neck flushes as one of his hands goes to touch a strand. 

As his shirt comes off you continue exploring him with your hands. Again, you settle on his shoulders. This time, your fingers curl and dig into muscle. Breath is knocked out of his chest as you work out the knots, and he deflates and slumps. Not quite into you, but close enough to smell the road in his hair; the scent of horse and hay and metal and musk. Close enough to press a kiss to the shell of his ear, to press up against him. 

He doesn’t jerk away, like you half expected him to. He presses back, settling into your hold, as your hands skate down the skin of his shoulders to his chest and you rise up on your knees to press another kiss to his cheek. And another, and another until you reach the corner of his lips and your hand has dipped down to the fabric of the front of his pants. Without the tunic, the leggings left little to the imagination. 

His fingers claw into the blanket when you push down the waistband of his leggings. A soft gasp escapes him as you slip a hand over the skin, savoring the silk over steel feel. One fingertip circles, taking it slow and drawing it out before you give him an experimental pump. The bed shakes. His back arches. You smile and wrap your other hand around his chest, tweaking a nipple in the process, before lightly gliding your hand over him.

Blonde hair tickles your neck as his head falls back to rest against your shoulder. His lids slid shut. Breaths deepened, ghosting out into the air of the room and if it were winter you’re sure you would have been able to see wisps of steam. 

Every part of you is moving in tandem for his pleasure, and you love it. Each full-body twitch and shiver makes heat shoot straight to your core, and the full-blown moan you pull from him by nibbling the shell of his ear has you reciprocating in kind. 

His body tenses beneath you. 

Immediately, your hand stills. You thumb the head of his dick, lower to the frenulum, take the chance to flick his nipple idly with your other hand, before tracing the veins oh-so-carefully. 

Even in the wake of his denied release, he doesn’t rut into your hand. A small, strangled noise does rise from the depths of his chest. 

It almost sounds like “please.”

A smile lifts the corner of your mouth as you take the weight of his balls in your palm, spreading the stickiness of his pre in the process. The neglecting of his shaft didn’t last long, though. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” 

You set a steady pace and from the tensing of his abdomen, he’s cresting the wave you denied him once more. Beads of sweat glisten along his body. 

His hips stutter as you clutch him against your front; your blunt nails dig into the flesh of his pectoral. He’s gritting his teeth and he’s so _close_ — 

“Come for me, baby.” 

His mouth drops open in a wordless shout as he ruts into empty air, cock throbbing and coming so hard he’s trembling. You stroke him through his orgasm, peppering kisses along the column of his neck and whispering praises as the shaking fades and he’s slumping against you. 

You lean away from him just long enough to wipe your cum-covered hand on a rag. He’s swaying where he sits, but somewhere in the course of everything he found purchase on your silky robes and hasn’t let go. 

Humming, you tug him closer to you and maneuver him so he can lay down comfortably. You haven’t even tucked him back into his pants before his eyes have slid shut and, for some reason, you find yourself lying down next to him. Your own eyes are surprisingly heavy and you’ve faded away between one thought and the next.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this was inspired by a madonna song and my need for a character caring for link in botw. like, wow, 100 years man. that's absolutely fucking wild
> 
> (also, shitty summary is shit but you know what I think I did pretty well since I legit typed it up in a minute. sue me)


End file.
